The past several weeks I have been trying to keep my curmudgeon levels to a minimum. It has been a struggle but I am happy to report I have been making fantastic progress. That is until the other day.

Please, don't call me "Sweetie" Rev. James L. Snyder
The past several weeks I have been trying to keep my curmudgeon levels
to a minimum. It has been a struggle but I am happy to report I have
been making fantastic progress. That is until the other day.
The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and our daughters had planned to
spend the day on the town and then have lunch together. That left Yours
Truly to fend for myself for the entire day, including lunch. I don't
mind this because it is good for the girls to have a day out by
themselves. Not only that, but it gives me a break, if you know what I
mean.
The day began very well for me and I busied myself with getting some
projects completed. Before I knew it, lunchtime was upon me and I
remembered I was on my own for lunch. A restaurant had recently opened
not far from my office and without any further ado; I made plans to go
there for my noon repast.
I had never been to this restaurant and did not quite know what to
expect but it looked like a place for good old-fashioned home cooking.
I'm not one that goes much into gourmet cuisine with fancy names I
cannot pronounce. I want good old-fashioned food I can recognize at a
glance. Plus, I want my plate filled with food.
One time I ate at one of those fancy gourmet restaurants. I really
didn't know what I was ordering and when the food came there was a big
plate with a little bit of food in the middle of it and the rest of the
plate was filled with green grass-like thingamajigs. My mama never fed
me thingamajigs and I am not about to start eating them now. I have no
idea what they are.
I walked into this little restaurant and immediately felt at home. I
could see by looking around that it was as far away from gourmet
cooking as you possibly can get.
"Just grab a seat and I'll get to you soon, Sweetie."
In my own defense, I must confess I was in the mood for good food and
not bantering around name-calling. Being the gentleman I am, I brushed
it aside, picked up the menu and began musing about what I was going to
order.
"Well, Sweetie, can I get you a cup of coffee while you're looking at
the menu?"
I could feel the curmudgeon level rising as I grunted something
resembling yes. I do not go around calling people names, well, usually.
I do not appreciate it when somebody, that I don't even know, resorts
to calling me names. After all, one man's Sweetie is another man's
Sourpuss. I suppose it is better to be a Sweetie than a Sourpuss, but I
prefer to make that decision about myself personally.
"Here's your coffee, Sweetie. Have you decided what you want to order?"
"My name isn't, Sweetie. It's James."
"Okay, Sweetie. I'll remember that. Now, what would you like to order?"
I gave her my order and set back with my coffee, relieved I had settled
that issue and I could feel my curmudgeon levels begin subsiding. It
was going to be a nice relaxing lunch, after all. Nothing quite matches
up to a relaxing lunch in a good old-fashioned restaurant.
I am not exactly a formal kind of a person, but there is a level of
informality I do not like to cross before its time. And, in checking my
book on gentlemanly manners, I find no place for the name "Sweetie." I
just want to set the record straight.
As I was finishing my first cup of coffee, I noticed the waitress come
zipping around the corner with my lunch items in hand.
"Here you are, Sweetie. Just as you ordered."
I could feel my curmudgeon levels begin to rise. It is a time like this
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